


roll it back

by marquis



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, and also lmao man why did i do this, it's their first impression of one another it's mostly cute and also a little eyes emoji, listen this is 2k of dom teaching andrew how to smoke i do not use these tags lightly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: “You have a visitor, Dom,” Alyssa calls. Dominic turns his head, eyebrows lifting almost imperceptibly in what might be surprise. “Says you invited him to the party. Should I throw him out?”“Andrew Solis! Imagine that.” Dom comes over immediately, holding out a hand. “Thanks for the help, Alyssa. Go get yourself a drink and loosen up a little, would you?”(The first time Dominic and Andrew met, an experiment and a promise.)
Relationships: Andrew Solis/Dominic Marijuana
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	roll it back

**Author's Note:**

> in case you did not look at the tags: this fic includes fairly explicit explanations of drug use, that's a big part of it, it's recreational and consensual but dominic marijuana and andrew solis meet for the first time and it's fun and lighthearted and they get high.
> 
> thank you to jamie who has been talking about dom and andrew with me for multiple days. this fic inspired by that post on tumblr about a person getting a tattoo and the tattoo artist saying "good girl" during the experience, which has haunted me for the better part of a week. title from "roll it back" by LUTHI.
> 
> standard blaseball warning that this is likely not 100 percent lore-compliant, because that is literally impossible and i know very little about either the spies or the mills. i just like these boys.

The Millennials are incredibly loud, and honestly that should have been obvious from the word go. They live in a shoebox and half of them are musicians and maybe it isn’t even that they’re loud so much as it is that they’re so close.

The Spies are not like this. The Spies are the exact _opposite_ of this. Which is, coincidentally, exactly how Andrew ended up at this party anyway.

“You’re doing recon,” Fitzgerald had said, dropping a file on the table with “MILLENNIALS” in bright red ink across the front. “Find out what they’re going for in the upcoming election, and report back in the morning.”

So Andrew stays behind when the rest of the team goes back to the hotel, and he takes a cab to the address included in the dossier, and he tries not to feel too self-conscious about his admittedly plain and unremarkable clothing when Sandie Turner opens the door in a thrifted cocktail dress and oversized blazer covered in sequins.

“Spy!” she yells, but she’s grinning. She swings the door open and snaps her fingers at him. “You’re the – sun, sunshiney, uh. Solidad! Right?”

Sandie’s got a plastic cup undoubtedly full of alcohol in one hand. Music is playing loud enough to shake the walls, reverberating through the ground under Andrew’s feet.

“Solis,” he corrects her. “Uh, Andrew. Just wanted to come say hi, I guess?”

It’s pretty clear almost immediately he isn’t going to get any useful information out of tonight. Andrew should just apologize for the confusion and turn around, walk right back down the steps that brought him here and head back to the hotel. He and Fitzgerald can come up with a backup plan, and he’ll try again next time they’re in town. Even better, someone _else_ can try. Comfort, maybe; they might have more fun with this kind of scene.

But Andrew doesn’t walk away. He stays in place, glancing behind Sandie at the mass of people dressed in increasingly absurd formalwear under lights covered with tissue paper to turn the apartment pink.

“Well then, hello!” Sandie says, stepping back from the doorway. “Come on in, everyone’s welcome in the Millennial Palace.”

“Palace, huh?” Andrew mutters. He walks through the doorway, albeit cautiously; he’s been caught on the wrong end of a tripwire more than once. “What are we celebrating?”

Sandie grins at him. Her tail _thwacks_ against the carpet in time with the music. “Buy one, get one at the bodega,” she says, holding her drink up. “Help yourself; drinks are in the kitchen.”

The kitchen, it turns out, is a series of card tables propped up against the wall beside a fridge and some cupboards. The tables are lined with boxed wine and canned mixed drinks, nothing hard-hitting but enough to keep people happy, Andrew suspects. He grabs a cup easily enough, but it takes a little longer to locate the sink and get himself some water.

Hardly anyone is paying any attention to him. The apartment is full to bursting, definitely more than just the Mills themselves; a stranger, even one from the Spies, is unremarkable in the crowd.

Alyssa Harrell spots him in the kitchen, though, eyes immediately narrowing to slits. She approaches quickly, and Andrew doesn’t _think_ she’d hurt him but he finds himself alarmed anyway.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, coming to stand just a few inches away to make sure she can be heard. “You’re not invited.”

Andrew should really have spent more time looking over the dossier. Normally, Fitzgerald is good at providing some believable excuses or alibis. But Andrew’s not entirely sure Fitz was expecting him to stumble into an active rave, so who knows.

“Uh,” Andrew says, and Alyssa opens her mouth to say something but he doesn’t let her. “I was invited, actually.”

“I don’t believe you.” She steps back to look him over, brow furrowed. “Who asked you to come?”

“Your captain.” Andrew hopes she can’t see the wheels turning, can’t tell he’s not exactly sure who her captain _is_. He takes a shot in the dark. “Marijuana.”

Which Marijuana, Andrew isn’t sure he could actually say. Luckily, Alyssa doesn’t ask.

“We’ll see about that,” she says, grabbing his free hand with her own. She pulls Andrew along through the crowd of people, some of whom he doesn’t even recognize, and over to an open window. “He’s out there. Go on.”

Andrew isn’t exactly sure what she means, but he goes to the window like he’s told. There’s a rusted fire escape clinging haphazardly to the bricks, and leaning on one corner of the landing is Dominic Marijuana. He’s got a joint in one hand, and when he exhales, a stream of smoke floats away on the breeze.

So Andrew was at least half right, he thinks, relieved.

“You have a visitor, Dom,” Alyssa calls. Dominic turns his head, eyebrows lifting almost imperceptibly in what might be surprise. “Says you invited him to the party. Should I throw him out?”

“Andrew Solis! Imagine that.” Dom pushes off the railing and approaches the window, holding out a hand. “Thanks for the help, Alyssa. Go get yourself a drink and loosen up a little, would you?”

Andrew takes his hand and lets himself be pulled through the window onto the landing. The air is freezing compared to the apartment; he takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, doing his best to ignore the fact that this mission is going about as poorly as it possibly could.

“Thanks,” he says. And then, just in case it wasn’t clear, “For vouching for me, I mean.”

Dominic offers a lopsided grin as he lets go of Andrew’s hand. “If you wanted an invite, all you had to do was ask. We’re not exactly exclusive.”

Andrew immediately stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Good to know.”

Dominic retreats almost immediately back to his corner, although he leans back against the railing this time to face Andrew. He takes another drag off his joint, and when he exhales he turns his head to direct the smoke away. “Why are you here, anyway? Trying to get in some light recon before the flight home?”

The problem with being on a team literally full of spies is that everyone knows exactly what you are, Andrew thinks. Other members of the team can talk their way out of these sorts of corners; he’s never quite managed that. The best he can do is laugh a little awkwardly and shrug.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or I just wanted to get away from all the other Spies for a while. It can be a little much.”

Dom nods his head toward the open window, toward the apartment of people currently screaming along to a decades-old pop song. “I know the feeling.”

Andrew mimics his posture, leaning back against the railing behind him. It’s not quite winter yet, but New York is colder than he’s used to and he wishes he’d thought to bring along gloves or a scarf or something.

“Sorry, I’m being kind of rude,” Dominic says, shaking his head slightly. He holds the joint out in the space between them. “Want some?”

The answer should be no. Andrew is on a mission, and that means no substances of any kind. The rules are pretty clear-cut in that regard. But it’s cold and he’s feeling a little overwhelmed, both from the sudden assignment and all the ways in which he’s already failed to meet expectations.

He hesitates just a split second too long. And then, because he’s _really_ bad at his job, he says, “Fitz would kill me.”

Dominic is still smiling at him. His teeth are a little crooked, Andrew notices, and his hair is falling into his eyes. “Good thing Fitz isn’t here.”

Andrew twists his lips to the side, considering. He really, really shouldn’t. But he’s got his own room at the hotel, and he won’t have to see anyone else until tomorrow morning, and it feels like if he’s not going to get anything useful out of tonight, he might as well try and blend in so it will make sense when he comes back next time. _If_ he comes back next time.

“I haven’t actually smoked before,” he says, after a lengthy pause.

“Not a problem!” Dominic pulls the joint back to take another hit; they don’t say much as he breathes in, as he once again lets the smoke out. It almost smells sweet, Andrew thinks, but maybe he’s just getting used to it. “I can walk you through it, but only if you want to. No pressure.”

And, well. In for a penny.

“Show me,” Andrew says.

Dominic smiles again, quick and a little surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not,” Andrew says, gesturing toward the window. “This isn’t exactly my scene. Might help me settle down.”

That seems to do the trick. Dominic walks over, moving firmly into Andrew’s space. He holds out the joint and Andrew takes it, pinches it between two fingers, which Dom immediately corrects with his own, laughing.

“The first time probably isn’t going to feel like much,” he says, eyes trained on Andrew’s. “It’s slow going, and we’re not going to let you take more than you can handle. Got it?”

“Got it.” Andrew resists the urge to lean away, lets himself enjoy the warmth radiating from Dominic. “Do I just breathe in?”

Dominic nods, reaching forward to place a hand low on Andrew’s chest. “Take it all in here, but leave some room.”

Andrew does as he’s told, bringing the stubby remains of the joint to his lips. He takes a deep breath and the smoke goes down like a cactus, surprisingly itchy and uncomfortable against his throat. He has to fight back the urge to cough.

Apparently, the discomfort is evident on his face. Dominic is laughing again, just barely. “Fight it off,” he says. “Take another breath, get some air in there.”

It’s a heady, overwhelming thing, trapped between Dominic and the railing and feeling the heat curl through his body. Andrew takes another quick breath of air, and Dominic nods. “Good job.”

The words are like an electric shock, radiating through Andrew all at once. He struggles to keep his face straight, pretends not to feel the blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Hold it, just for a second, and then let it all out slow,” Dominic continues, apparently not planning to acknowledge any of it. Andrew keeps his mouth shut, lets the smoke sit inside him uncomfortably for a second or two longer. “You’re going to cough, it’s fine. Happens to all of us.”

Andrew does, in fact, cough. He coughs so hard it hurts, scratches in the back of his throat and rattles his ribcage. Dominic keeps a hand on him the whole time, rubbing circles on his shoulder and his upper arm.

“There you go, you’re all right,” he says, taking the joint from Andrew’s hand. “Give yourself a minute, it’ll stop.”

It does stop, eventually. But Dominic doesn’t quite move away, eyes still trained on Andrew’s. “Good?”

Somehow, even with clean air back in his lungs and the smoke dissipating from the air between them, it still feels like too much. Andrew is hyper-aware of Dominic’s hand against his arm, even through the fabric of his coat. This, he decides, is beyond what he was expecting from his evening.

“You do that for _fun?_ ” Andrew asks, voice hoarse. His eyes are watery and his chest hurts; he cannot imagine doing that a second time, much less making a habit of it.

“Better than trying to spy on other teams during a party,” Dominic says, winking. “But since you’ve indulged me, I’ll let it slide. What are you _actually_ here for, Solis?”

If Andrew could burst into flames, he thinks he would. “Fitz wants to know what you’re gunning for in the election,” he says, staring at the bricks of the building over Dominic’s shoulder rather than making eye contact.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Dominic says. “Anticapitalism and the evil winds thing. We’re shit at stealing bases.”

“Thanks,” Andrew says. Dominic steps back and out of his space, leaving him exposed once again to the cold. “Was it really that obvious?”

Dominic laughs, loud enough this time to startle a few birds on top of the building. He pats Andrew on the shoulder once before retreating back to his corner. “If they wanted me to believe a random Spies player was going to show up to a rager uninvited, they should have sent Septemberish.”

“That’s what I said!” Andrew exclaims, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth.

“Tell you what, Solis,” Dominic says, pointing at him. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about the Mills, whenever you want to know it. But only if you come to New York again to ask me.”

That’s not exactly a fair deal, and they both know it. But it would be stupid of Andrew _not_ to take it, especially considering this is the first time he’s ever gotten the information he was tasked with investigating. He holds out a hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

Dominic waves his hand off. “No, no. No handshakes. We seal our deals with vodka in this house.”

Andrew groans, but he doesn’t resist when Dominic grabs his hand and leads him back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i'm not really in the discord at all but you can find me @blink, and i'm on tumblr as leonstamatis. come talk blaseball, i have a lot of feelings! especially about the marijuana family!


End file.
